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'BY 



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G31LUfln2 RICK6Y & COffiP/ffiY 

1911 



Copyright, 1911, by 
WILLIAM RICKEY & COMPANY 



Registered at Stationers'' Hall, London 
(All Rights Reserved) 



Printed in the United States of America 



PRESS OF WILLIAM G. HEWITT, 61-67 NAVY ST., BROOKLYN, V. Y. 

©CI.A303649 



TO HIS JilOTHHt? 



**His life was gentle and the elements 
So mix't in him that nature might stand up, 
And say to all the world, 'This is a man !' " 

— Shakespeare. 



''His Poems Are the Mirror of the Man,*' 

Penillion is the beautiful tribute which in loneliness and 

sadness has been culled and collaborated by the author's wife 

a tribute as full of fragrance as the life whose memory it seeks 
to perpetuate was full of goodness and love and truth. 

That it has been my privilege to introduce this little volume 
is enforced no more by love than by the conviction I have that, 
so far as I may contribute to the wider reading of the following 
pages, I shall be conferring a real benefit on the minds in- 
fluenced, and through them upon society at large. If I may lead 
men to see more of that goodness, sweetness and gentleness: 
that made up the life of this man, I shall the more bless the 
memory that has survived. 

The poems are but stray jottings from the author's pen, in- 
tended for no eye but that of the writer. 

We are led through his soul's doubts and fears, questionings 
and disquietudes, longings and hopes, and at last emerge firm 
in the repose of faith — the sunlight of infinite love. 

In a word, in these poems is portrayed the history of the 
author's inner life. 

It has been beautifully said of him "that he supported the 
heart of every man who confided in him, with encouragement 
and affection, and filled to overflowing the cup of cold water 
for the little ones." 

"Of manners gentle, of appearance mild. 
In wit a man, simplicity a child." 

A. A. T. 



HAROLD EMERYJONES 

(Born July 28th, 1875— Died May 12th, 1909.) 

Dr. H. Emery-Jones was born in North Wales. He was a 
son of Garmonydd, a distinguished scientist and man of letters. 
When but twelve years of age he wrote an ode for the Prince 
of Wales, which won a prize. 

He attended the University of Edinburgh, where he won 
three medals for excellence in medical studies before he was 
twenty- four. Later he was medical assistant to Sir Medwyn 
Hughes, Mayor of Ruthin, and physician for Lady Cornwallis- 
West and many of the royal personages at Ruthin Castle. 

Ten years ago he came to the United States and was con- 
nected with the sanitarium at Las Vegas, New Mexico. 

In 1901 Dr. Jones married Edna Marion Barnes, daughter of 
Dr. Samuel Mathers Barnes. 

Dr. Jones possessed a beautiful tenor voice and was a poet 
of distinction; his productions attracted attention in this country 
and Europe. 

An indescribable sweetness, freshness and youthful manliness 
about his poetry irresistibly reminds one of the works of Keats, 
whom Dr. Jones so passionately loved. Literary critics, privi- 
leged to read his poems in manuscript, have unanimously com- 
pared them with those of the youthful English bard. And when 
one becomes familiar with Dr. Jones' childhood experiences, his 
boyhood adoration and study of Keats' word-music, his love of 
nature and nature's hidden beauties, his retracing of the life of 
Keats in Italy, and his passing from this life at the same age 
at which Keats passed into the immortal, one can almost be led 



■to believe that the sweet, pure soul of Keats has again been 
with us. 

His poem, "The Pen Is Mightier Than the Sword," was set 
to music by B. Margaret Hoberg. Besides his many other songs 
and poems, Dr. Jones composed "The American Girl," dedicated 
to his wife; "The Thanksgiving Hymn of the Republic," dedi- 
cated by permission to the late Mrs. William McKinley; and 
"The Cowboy and the Dude," dedicated to Theodore Roosevelt. 
The "Song of Peace" and "The Thanksgiving Hymn" are en- 
rolled as National Songs by the Congressional Library at 
Washington. 

From 1906 Dr. and Mrs. Jones resided in New York City — 
the doctor being engaged in literary work. Here his death 
^occurred, he being but thirty-four years of age. 

C. E. H. 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Heart of My Boy I 

The Song of the Sea 2 

Love's Magic 4 

The Workers 5 

What Seek I? 6 

Kisses 7 

''ir 8 

The Victory of Love . . . . .' . . .9 

God and Mother il 

God's Liberty Flag . 12 

The Shipwreck 14 

Masked Faces 15 

Man, Know Thyself . , 16 

Sowing and Mowing , . .17 

Do Your Part 18 

Knights of Labor ig 

The Emigrant's Dream . . 21 

Friends 24 

The Song of the Book- Worm 25 

We Cheer for the Soldier 27 

Your Mother 29 

God's Mercy 30 

Thy Word Endureth 31 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 

PAGE. 

*Tis Darkest Ere the Dawn Z'2' 

Song of Love ZZ 

A Song of Thanksgiving . 34 

Summer in the City 35. 

What a Mockery Is Christmas ...!«.,. 36 

Can Death Demand? , , .37 

My Mother ^ 38. 

God's Angel 40 

A Memory 41 

Laughing Sunshine 42 

Cupid's Choice 44 

The Language of the Heart ....... 45 

As Thine 47 

Love's Sacrifice 49 

"Boy Cupid" 50 

The Garden of Eden . .52 

The Quest 53, 

Autumn .55 

A Prayer 56 

The Rifle's Refrain 58 

The Old Soldier's Death 60 

The Song of the Flag 62 

The Iron Duke . . .64 

Thanksgiving Song of the Republic 67 

Tears 69 

Song of Peace 71 

The Awakening . y^ 

The Great Unseen .74 




THE HEART OF MY BOY 

Light as the thistle-down kissed by the breeze, 
Blithe as the song-bird up in the trees, 
Thoughtless and artless, brimful of joy, 
Careless and fearless — the heart of my boy. 

Bright as the sunshine which laughs on the hills, 
Gay as the silver-shod scampering rills, 
Thoughtless and artless, brimful of joy, 
Careless and fearless — the heart of my boy. 

Soft as the kiss of the zephyrs of spring, 
Sweet as the notes of the skylark a-wing. 
Thoughtless and artless, brimful of joy, 
Careless and fearless — the heart of my boy. 

As pure as the Lily, as wild as the Rose, 
Clinging to Mother like Ivy that grows. 
Thoughtless and artless, brimful of joy, 
Careless and fearless — the heart of my boy. 



THE SONG OF THE SEA 

Hark! to the deep sea crooning a lullaby to earth, 
Hark! to the wide sea laughing in merriment and 

mirth, 
It's a calm sea, a smooth sea, and the phantom ships 

fly by. 
Their silver wings a-shimmer with the sunshine of 

the sky; 
The sea is this life with its sunshine and calm, 
The phantom ships — Memories — life's healing 

balm. 

Hark! to the wild seas sobbing a requiem to the 
shore, 

Hark! to the billows bellowing, hark! to the tem- 
pest's roar. 

It's a sad sea, a mad sea, and the helpless phantom 
ship. 

With her broken wings a-fluttering is lashed by the 
storm-fiend's whip; 

The sea is this life with its turmoil and strife, 

The phantom ship, Memory, the sweet-bitter of life. 



2 



31 




But the seas soon merge Into oceans where tempests 

and storms are unknown, 
Where the phantom ships anchor forever each safe 

in a port of her own, 
It is there all our troubles are ended, where is it? 

when is it? who knows? 
Ask the sea with its tides and its deep mystery, ask 

the wind where it slumbers and blows. 



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LOVE'S MAGIC 

I burnish the wings of the morning, 

I crimson the dull cheeks of eve, 

The dark dusky robes of the night-time, 

With bright starry jewels I weave. 

I kiss the most modest of flowers, 

And it blooms in its gorgeous array. 

It steals from my sweet breath its perfume, 

And scatters it over Life's way. 

I heal up the dull wounds of sorrow, 

And dry bitter tears of despair, 

I take out the dread sting of dying. 

And change all things foul into fair. 

I make of Life's lone weary pathway 

A blossoming garden of God, 

With flowers and sweet songsters singing 

Along the sweet way I have trod. 



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Men of luxury and fashion, 

With your soft glove-covered hands ; 
Slaves to vice and serfs to passion — 

Paying fully sin's demands, 
What know ye of toil and toiling? 

With your stunted, tainted growth, 
'Shamed your hands with work of soiling, 

Proud of staining them with sloth. 

Maids of revelry and pleasure. 

With your powdered, painted cheeks, 
Life by fetes and balls you measure. 

Bounded by your narrow cliques. 
What know ye of home and striving? 

What wot ye of mothers' tears? 
All your lives but long contriving. 

How to cheat the gathering years. 

Men of heart and brawny muscle, 

Health imprinted on your face. 
Strengthened for the weary tussle. 

In life's long uncertain race; 
Though your hands be rough and horny, 

Though your backs be bowed and bent. 
Though the way be rough and thorny, 

You are workers! Be content! 




WHAT SEEK I? 

^ What seek I? 

Is It wealth untold, 
A listless life of idleness and ease? 
God help one if the heart pant after gold, 
As one's wealth increases often virtues cease; 
Wealth! what is wealth without a peaceful mind, 
It's just as music to the deaf, and color to the blind — 
Oh 1 for wealth I'd never seek nor ever wish to find. 

What seek I? 
Is it endless fame, 

A gaudy crown of laurels ever green, 
An empty title or high-sounding name? 
I know not- — neither care I — what these mean, 
Let mighty minds thirst after this renown; 
I — in a humble cot — content will lay me down, 
For poor I — am seeking neither name nor crown. 

What seek I? 
Just a smile of love, 

A gentle word to cheer one on life's way, 
A heart which — with one's being interwoven, 
Beats with it always, both by night and day; 
O! give me these things — gold can never buy. 
These, like immortal souls, will neither fade nor die, 
Let man take all but these, for only these seek I. 




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There's the saucy kiss of the gay coquette, 

Mere servant of the lips, 
A thoughtless gift which we soon forget, 
A loveless thing which we may regret, 

And which soon from our memory slips. 

There's the social kiss — one of Judas's breed- 
So cold and insincere, 

A kiss that is feted and dinnered and tea'd, 

A kiss to which — we pay no heed, 
A kiss with a social leer. 



Z 



There's the heart-born kiss of the lovers twain, 

With its cruel throb of life, 
And its love-burnt scar will forever remain 
The thrill of its joy and its tingle of pain, 

A kiss with the sting of life. 

There's the mother's kiss with its laugh and its 
weep, 

Born of a mother's soul. 
The kiss which croons the children to sleep, 
It is God's own seal stamped clear and deep 

Upon its sacred scroll. 



5] O E 





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"IF" 

If life were only shine, 

No dreary days; 
But always fair and fine, 

No rain, no haze; 
The earth would cry for rain 

With parched and blistered mouth, 
Would call for clouds again — 

And curse the drouth. 

If your life and mine 

W^ere free from sorrow's pain, 
And we had naught but shine 

And never rain; 
Our hearts would parch and dry. 

Love, the flower divine, 
Would languish and would die 
\ In both your heart and mine. 



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THE VICTORY OF LOVE 



A boundless arid desert, stretching far as eye can 

span ; 
Sand — naught but sand, the burning sun overhead. 
While panting, tongue protruding, mouth agape, 

near dead, 
I fall upon the scorching sand — a doomed man. 
But where I fall a tiny flower upsprlngs, 
Its perfume spurs me on to greater things; 
I rise ! Oh, what care I for the blazing sun above. 
For tight clasped In my hand there blooms the 

flower of Love. 

What matter thirst! What matters hunger's pain? 
The flower makes a garden of the desert waste. 
I gather courage, strength, move on again, 
And right ahead the verdant green appears In space. 
Oh! is it a mirage? Love's cruel, careless way; 
To raise false hopes, and lead a soul astray? 
No ! On ! a babbling spring makes music at my 

feet, 
I bend and drink, and see Love's face reflected in 

the water sweet. 






H O D 





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The pain and suffering past— I rise, 

Love standing by my side, 

A maid, that blushing like a modest virgin bride. 

Presses her warm red lips to mine, with bright 

voluptuous eyes. 
The shifting, blinding sand, the stony stillness and 

the torrid heat. 
Is but a dreadful dream — ^blrds sing, and flowers 

bend to kiss our feet. 
The leafy verdant trees throw shadows o'er the 

land, 
And Love and I trip forward gaily — hand in hand. 



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GOD AND MOTHER 

When the little toddling Infant 
Wanders near the cliff so steep, 

There are two who 're ever watching 
And from danger baby keep — 
God and Mother. 

When the boy who leaves the home-hearth 
Rushes headlong to his doom, 

There is some one who will save him, 
Ere he sinks to sin's dark tomb — 
God and Mother. 

When the outcast soul is floundering 

In the tideless sea of hell, 
There are two who then will save it, 

Bear it back from whence it fell — 
God and Mother. 



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GOD'S LIBERTY FLAG 

Men of this great republic, for which your brave 

fathers fought, 
Can the votes of a freeborn people be stolen, be 

bartered and bought? 
Shall the sons of freedom's fair country be cajoled 

by bluster and brag, 
To strike at the heart of their homeland, and haul 

down God's Liberty Flag. 

Its stars and its stripes are aglitter with Liberty's 
live-giving light. 

It is dyed with the blood of your fathers, it is black- 
ened with smoke of the fight; 

Would you sell this dear blood-bought birthright? 
be blinded by bluster and brag? 

Then strike at the heart of your homeland, and haul 
down God's Liberty Flag. 

Wherever its stars are all gleaming, wherever its 
bars are aflame. 

Emblazoned on high with the quivering sky, is free- 
dom and Liberty's name; 



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Would you strike at the heart of your home- 
land? In the dirt her fame would you drag? 
^ Then join the foul ranks of the traitors, and haul 
down God's Liberty Flag. 

In the name of your martyred fathers! who strug- 
gled, who bled, and who died; 

In the name of your sainted mothers! who prayed 
at their brave husbands' side; 

For the sake of your home and your country, the 
mouth of the foul braggart gag, 

Strike deep at the heart of the traitor, and stand 
by God's Liberty Flag. 




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THE SHIPWRECK 

The crash of timbers and the rasp of rock, 
The stricken ship — a plaything of the gales 

Lies helpless, while the cruel waters mock — 
With swaying, cracking masts and flapping sails. 

The shrieking storm, — the grinning, jagged crags 
Tear at the sea-tossed, death-doomed battered 
ship. 

The mocking tongue of death in frenzy wags, 
Beneath the ghostly, ghastly fleshless lip. 

The swirling, curling breakers, with their mouths 
of white, 
Fasten their long-fanged teeth upon the death- 
doomed wreck. 
And drag her slowly down to lasting night, 

Where weeds, with tangled fingers, fasten on her 
deck. 



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MASKED FACES 

A smiling face may mask a breaking heart, 
A friendly word may hide hate's poisoned dart; 
Life is a ball — where dancers masked — parade, 
Where woman acts the man, and man the maid. 

The dreamy waltz is danced with partner masked, 
And lo ! — one's confidences flow unasked; 
But when the mask from off the face is torn. 
The hate of years but strangles love new-born. 

Life is a ball — the world the ball-room bright — - 
Wherein one treads the music of the night; 
The glitter fades before the breaking morn, 
And masks are from the pallid faces torn. 

And then — ^but not before — each one will see 
Their partners as they are — love — enmity — 
Those masks which veil the face of ball-room guest, 
The Master of the Dance from off each one will 
wrest. 



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MAN, KNOW THYSELF 

Man, know thyself — the secret thought. 

Which flits and flutters through thy darkened 

mind, 
The sin-wrought fetters which enslave and bind — 
Man, know thyself. 

Man, know thyself — the prize that's sought 
Is graven deep upon thy silent soul. 
Locked in thy heart's recesses is the goal — 
Man, know thyself. 

Man, know thyself — the God-born deeds, 
The evil actions — offspring of the night. 
The fangs of conscience which snap and bite — 
Man, know thyself. 

Man, know thyself — the motley creeds 
Are but reflections of some greater beings. 
The clothes, changing beggars foul to kings and 
queens — 

Man, know thyself. 

Man, know thyself — strip from thyself 

The borrowed garb of hypocrites and read 
The record of thy soul devoid of creed — 
Man, know thyself. 






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SOWING AND MOWING 



Arduous is the sowing, weary work and long, 
Arduous is the mowing, man must needs be strong, 
But whatever man soweth springeth up and grows, 
And man always moweth the crops of seeds he sows. 

Sowing prickly thistles, mowing them again, 
Sowing reckless pleasure, mowing grief and pain. 
If the seeds of sin you sow, 
You will reap the crop of woe. 
Thistles sow, and thistles mow, 
Prickly harvesting, you know. 

Sow the grain of goodly deeds, 

Scatter happiness around. 
Wheat will choke the few stray weeds 

And they'll wither in the ground, 
If the seeds of Love you sow, 
Love's rich harvest you will mow. 

And you cannot idly stand. 
You must lend a helping hand. 
You have but the choice of seeds, 
Goodly grain or thistly weeds. 



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Though 'tis easier weeds to sow, 
Weeds are harder far to mow, 
Sow the goodly grains of wheat, 
And your mowing will be sweet. 



DO YOUR PART 

If you know a word of gladness, 
That might cheer an aching heart, 

Say it — drive away the sadness. 
And in life youVe done your part 

If an angry thought you cherish, 
Let it from your memory slip. 

And the still-born word will perish, 
Freeze upon your tight-drawn lip. 

Choke the weeds of anger's sowing. 
Let the sunshine of your heart 

Shine on wheat of Love's own growing. 
And in life you've done your part 




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KNIGHTS OF LABOR 



No tap of drum, no bugle note, 

No glint of gun or sabre. 
Nor prancing steed, nor martial coat. 

Proclaims the Knights of Labor; 
But beat of hearts, and growl of throats, 

The glint of picks and shovels. 
Sore bleeding feet, and ragged coats, 

And dingy dismal hovels. 

The mothers sit in dumb despair. 

Their eyes and breasts run dry; 
While hungry on their bosoms bare 

The moaning infants lie; 
The children, thin and hollow-eyed. 

Forsake their games and play, 
And, huddling to their mothers' side. 

For crusts of bread they pray. 

With grief-wrung curses, and with prayers. 

The fathers beg for bread. 
What cruel disappointment theirs I 

They get a stone instead. 



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And slowly to their dismal huts 
They drag their weary feet, 

iWhere Poverty in tatters struts, 
Where Death lurks in the street. 

In the east the dawn is breaking; 

Blood red and in sullen wrath 
The great sun of Justice rises, 

Right and freedom in her path, 
Death and Hunger, like the morn mists, 

Melt away before her eyes. 
And the curses, cries and heartaches 

Blossom into songs of praise. 

No tap of drum, no bugle note. 
Proclaims the Knights of Labor, 

But bleeding feet and ragged coat, 
And neighbor's love for neighbor. 



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THE EMIGRANT'S DREAM 

I can see the smoke curl upwards from the little 

straw-thatched cot, 
And the tiny modest garden, with its sweet forget- 
me-not, 
I can hear the mill-wheel clapping, and the jolly 

miller's song; 
I can feel the mountain breezes as they lightly dance 
along. 

Oh — the cottage and the flowers. 
Oh — the cooling country showers. 
Oh — the shady nooks and bowers, 
In the country of my birth. 

I can see the ploughman trudging slowly to his daily 

toil, 
I can hear the harrow jolting as it turns the loamy 

soil, 
I can hear the trees a-rustling, and the birds a-sing- 

ing sweet, 
I can feel the modest daisy and the cowslip kiss my 
feet. 

Oh — the meadows and the clover, 
Oh — the partridge and the plover, 
Oh — the rustic maid and lover. 
In the country of my birth. 



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I can see my dear old mother sitting on the garden 

seat, 
I can hear her softly singing simple songs of child- 
hood sweet, 
I can feel her tender kisses, warm and loving on my 

cheek, 
Hear her "Good-night'' and "God bless you" — 
"Now, my darling, go to sleep.'* 
Oh — the little cottage settle. 
Oh — the singing steaming kettle. 
Oh — the puffing black-smoked kettle, 
In the country of my birth. 



I can see the little table, covered with our humble 

fare, 
I can see my father coming, with his arms all brown 

and bare, 
I can see the children running towards him for a 

kiss and ride, 
And they climb upon his shoulders, clamber round 
his back so wide. 

Oh — those happy childhood hours, 
'Mongst the butterflies and flowers. 
In the sunny April showers, 
In my country full of mirth. 



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I can hear the city traffic, rumbling 'long the dirty 

street, 
I was dreaming, only dreaming, yet a dream is some- 
times sweet, 
I can see the tall skyscrapers, dimly through the 

city's grime. 
And I wake up from my dreaming of that happy 
childhood time. 

Oh — the noise, the grime and bustle, 
Oh — -the long and weary tussle. 
Oh — the worry and the hustle, 
Of the cities of the earth. 



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Friends — when the sun is shining, 

Friends — when your face is bright, 
Friends — when they're with you dining. 

Friends — when all goes right, 
Friends — when the world is yours. 

Friends — when youVe got your pile, 
But the "Friendship of Friends'' endures; 

Just wait awhile. 

Clouds may gather round you — 

The sun may hide its face, 
The wheels of fate may grind you 

In their remorseless race. 
And your money and health may vanish, 

It is then that you'll weigh a "Friend," 
For even though Hope be banished. 

He'll stick to you right to the end. 

And it's Friends when the sun is not shining, 

Yes — it's Friends when the smile disappears, 
It's Friends when you're ailing and pining. 

And your days are but hours of tears. 
It's Friends when grim Poverty presses, 

And your lone and last dollar is spent; 
But beware of "Proud Plenty's" caresses. 

Find a true Friend and be content! 



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THE SONG OF THE BOOK-WORM 

Let the soldier pine for glory, 

On the blood-stained battle-ground, 
Where the flag flies limp and gory, 

Where the bullets patter round. 

Where the wounded and the dying, and the 
mangled dead are found. 



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Let the merchant dream of riches, 

In the markets of the east. 
Fickle fortune man bewitches, 

With her gaudy empty feast. 

Oh — the lying of the buying — where the greatest 
crush the least. 



Let the sailor sing of sailing 

O'er the heaving restless deep. 
Where the winds are sadly smiling. 

Where the dark storm spirits sleep. 

Where the monstrous shark and whale swim- 
and the flying-fishes leap. 



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I am happy in my study, 

Delving in my dusty shelves, 
Where the fire blushes ruddy, 

With its wicked dancing elves. 

Where men strip their souls stark-naked and to 
others show themselves. 



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We cheer for the soldier who leaves for the fight^. 
We dub him a hero that's battling for right, 
But the grey-headed mother, forgotten, forlorn, 
Her eyes dimmed with tears, her heart bruised and 

torn, 
Returns to her cottage, In silent despair, 
A grey-headed mother, a son's vacant chair. 

We talk of the honor the soldier has won, 
How he wielded his sword and handled his gun. 
But the hollow-eyed wife, she sits and she weeps, 
The babe in the cradle, It wakes and It sleeps, 
The hollow-eyed wife, and the poor, scanty fare. 
The wee prattling babe, and a man's vacant chair.. 

We tell of the valor our soldier has shown, 
How he fought with the foe, unaided, alone, 
How they found Jhlm when dead, still grasping his- 

sword. 
But the wife, babe and mother, we leave to the 

Lord, 
And the mother and wife, they kneel down in 

prayer. 
With their arms clasped around a man's vacant 

chair. 



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A grey-headed mother, who gives up the life 
Of a husband, a son at stern duty's call, 
Who silently part with their world's little all- 
They suffer in secret, no trumpet's loud flare. 
And their only reward, a man's vacant chair. 



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YOUR MOTHER 



The world stands by you when you're up^ 
Deserts you when youVe down; 

Alone you drain the bitter cup, 
Alone you face the frown. 

No, not alone, for one remains. 

Whatever may befall. 
Your mother shares your griefs and pains^. 

A mother's true through all. 



Your mother's love will never fade, 
A mother's heart ne'er fails. 

In rain or shine, in sun or shade, 
Her motherhood prevails. 

Remember, though her hair turn gray. 

And dim become her eye. 
That once she watched you at your play,; 

And kissed your tears all dry. 

And though she now is old and weak, 
Her love still lives for you, 

You'll never find, though far you seek„ 
A soul so dear and true. 



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GOD'S MERCY 

The heavens, the sea, the earth rejoice, 
God's mercy e'er prevails ; 
Hark to the dulcet voice 
Of flower-scented gales; 
The sun, the moon, the stars and birds 
Hymn their sweet song, 
Mercy prevails, right conquers wrong — - 
God's mercy e'er prevails. 

The earth drinks eager of the rain, 

God's mercy e'er prevails; 

The golden God-sent grain 

Gilds all the hills and dales; 

The star-eyed flowers, the bursting buds, 

The rill-pierced lea sing tenderly — 

God's mercy e'er prevails, 

God's mercy e'er prevails. 

O ! blessed are the pure in heart, 
For they their God shall see. 
Who guards us all so tenderly. 
He giveth to his children peace; 
Though dark the night 
Joy cometh with the morn; 

God's mercy e'er prevails, 

God's mercy e'er prevails. 



"If 



30 





THY WORD ENDURETH 



The splendor of kings and the pomp of a nation 
Soon fade like a flower and die ere the night, 
For where the chill breath of the tomb breathes upon 
them, 
The splendor and pomp are as rags in our 
sight,— 
The frail rope "Mortality,'* Death's blow will sever, 
But the word of the Lord it endureth forever. 

The glitter of gold and the sparkle of jewels 
Both pass when the brightness of daylight has 
fled, 

The lustre of riches, when Death blows upon them. 
Is darkened and dull as the eye of the dead — 

The frail rope "Mortality,'' Death's blow will sever, 

But the word of the Lord it endureth forever. 

The voice of the ruler, the sway of his sceptre. 
Are sunken and hid in the seas of the past, 

The thrones of the monarchs, who lorded creation, 
Are withered and fallen 'neath Time's biting 
blast — 

The frail rope "Mortality," Death's blow will sever, 

But the word of the Lord it endureth forever. 



31 





r* 



'TIS DARKEST ERE THE DAWN 

'Tis darkest ere the dawn, 

The blinding mists are thickest 
Just as the day is born. 

'Tis darkest ere the dawn, 

The blinking stars go out, 
The moon sets pale and worn. 

'Tis darkest ere the dawn, 

The mourning robes of dying night 
Around its corpse are drawn. 

'Tis darkest ere the dawn ! 

The sunlight bursts bright o'er the hills, 
Another day is born. 

Oh — were it not for dreary dark how could one 
love the light, 

A man must taste of sorrow, to cherish joy aright, 

So when the world is dreary, and lonely and for- 
lorn. 

Let not your heart grow weary, " 'Tis darkest ere 
the dawn." 



t=)\ 



32 



E 



m 




SONG OF LOVE 



In the sweetest strains of music, 
Notes of discord sometimes sound, 

In our joys however perfect, 
Sorrow's flaws are often found. 

Sometimes In the brightest sunshine, 
Little clouds bedim the sun. 

And through our great successes 
Threads of failure often run. 

When the heart Is at Its gayest. 
Often comes the pang of pain. 

When the sun Is shining brightest, 
Falls at times a shower of rain. 

In this changing world of ours, 

Joy Is tinged with sorrow's gloom, 

Thorns spring up among the flowers, 
Life's o'ershadowed by the tomb. 

Love alone can heal the thorn-pricks. 

Love alone can ease the pain, 
Love can set the heart a-singing. 

Both In sunshine and In rain. 



33 

Hon 



n 



A SONG OF THANKSGIVING 

For the sunshine and the rain, 
Bringing plenty in their train, 
For the goodly golden grain, 
iWe thank thee, Lord. 

For our vic'tries o'er the foe. 
We our gratitude would show, 
For the tyrants' overthrow. 
We thank thee, Lord. 

For the absence of disease. 
Loving care on land and seas. 
Priceless gifts are such as these, 
We thank thee. Lord. 

Father, grant thy children peace. 
May thy people's love increase. 
Cruel, sinful warfare cease, 
We pray thee. Lord. 

Guide our weak and faltering feet 
To thy loving Mercy-seat, 
Give thy children manna sweet. 
We pray thee, Lord. 



34 




3' 




reator, 
To a father we would bring 
A childish lay of offering, 
Oh — Father, hear. 



SUMMER IN THE CITY 

Sunshine mocks one on the street, 
Tired eye and burning feet, 
Blue skies laugh from overhead, 
At the sun-burned city bred, 

Hurry, scurry. 

Bustle, hustle, 
Always moving until dead. 

Clanging bell and tooting horn 
Ringing ever in one's ear, 
Office hastening in the morn, 
Homeward in the evening seer, 

Hurry, flurry, 

Hustle, bustle. 
Never rest — until the bier. 



35 



"^ 



d] ta ic 



3^ 




<r 



WHAT A MOCKERY IS CHRISTMAS 

What a mockery is Christmas 
To the poor who bite a crust, 

With its songs of cheer and plenty, 
With its good-will, peace and trust. 

What a mockery is Christmas 
To the suffering, silent throng. 

With its bells of love a-chiming, 
With its merry gladsome song. 

What a mockery is Christmas, 
With its holly bright and red. 

When the hearth is dark and dreary, 
And the embers cold and dead. 

What a mockery is Christmas, 
With its words of joy and cheer. 

When the heart is slowly breaking. 
And the eyes are dimmed with tears. 

What a mockery is Christmas, 

When the children cry for bread. 

When the Christmas bells are ringing, 
And we stand above our dead. 



36 

3 iBl E 




Merry Christmas — Joyous Christmas, 
"Peace on earth, Good-will toward men," 

When the weak and poor are falling, 
'Tis but hollow mockery, then. 



■^ 



CAN DEATH DEMAND? 

She is dead, they say, 
And those eyes that shone, 
Are lustrous and glazed. 
And her smile is gone; 
And the hand she raised 
Is lifeless clay. 

But for me she lives. 
And those eyes still shine, 
That smile and hand 
Are forever mine; 
For can Death demand 
The gift God gives? 



37 



3l B H 



^1 





MY MOTHER 

No jewels sparkle in her hair, 
No roses blush upon her cheek, 

A host of women are more fair, 
But none less selfish, none as meek, 

I would not change her for another, 

My first love and my last — ^my mother. 

Her hair is turned to silver grey. 
That once was black as raven wing. 

When round her knees I used to play. 
While she in baby rhymes would sing, 

I would not change her for another. 

My first love and my last — my mother. 

Her eye is dim, and bowed her head, 
All wrinkled is that dear white face, 

But none may reign in mother's stead, 
For none can fill a mother's place; 

I would not change her for another 

My first love and my last — my mother. 



38 



e 



■eSr^Elo 



n 



And though that voice has lost its ring^ 
And faltering are those weary feet,, 

She still to me does ofttimes sing 
While at her side I take my seat; 

I would not change her for another, 

My first love and my last — my mother. 

And when I hear her croon those rhymes, 

I wander back to childhood day, 
And dream about those happy times 

As through my hair her fingers stray; 
And yet those wrinkles on her face, 

That tear-dimm'd eye, that silver hair. 
Enhance my mother's magic grace, 

Endowing her with beauty rare. 
I would not change her for another, 
My first love and my last — my mother. 



n 



39 



IbI H 




GOD'S ANGEL 



n 



u 



God's angel Death — not angel of the sword, 
Not angel to be feared — but to be loved, adored, 
Not angel of the darkness, but angel of the light, 
An angel of God's loving holy night. 

God's angel Death, the angel with the kiss. 
The angel, bearing man across the wide abyss 
Which stretches 'twixt eternity and time, 
The angel of the heavenly and sublime. 

God's angel Death — ye righteous do not fear, 
Why do ye tremble when blest Death is near, 
For on the wings of Death, from earth you fly. 
To dwell with angels, saints and God most high. 

God's angel Death, an angel from above. 
Descends to earth and with God's key of love 
Unlocks the gates of time, yea of eternity, 
And throws them open wide to all humanity. 



40 



1 



From out the heedless passing throng 
A face stands out with eyes aglow, 

And through the tumult a sweet song 
On wings of love flits to and fro, 
Voiced by a maid of long ago, 
A song — a love I used to know. 

And when the noise of city dies, 
And silence hovers o'er her streets, 

On wings of memory — ^backward flies 
My soul — and song and singer greets, 

A singer of the golden days, 

A note of one of Cupid's lays, 

When life was young and bright always. 

And as I sweep my fingers 'long 
The strings of Life's worn lyre, 

I strike a note of love's sweet song. 
Which sets my heart afire, 

Above the harsh discordant notes, 

The harmony of childhood floats. 
Then broken lies Life's lyre. 



41 
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r 



u 



LAUGHING SUNSHINE 

Laughing sunshine, tell me true, 
With a laugh should mortal woo ? 
Is your laughter Cupid's art 
Made to steal a flower^s heart? 
Laughing sunshine, tell me true, 
With a laugh should mortal woo? 

O'er the hills and dales I trip, 
Laughter dripping from my lip, 
And the flowers in surprise, 
Open wide their modest eyes; 
If you'd win a maiden's heart. 
Wing with laughter Cupid's dart. 

Pattering rain-drops, tell me true, 
With a tear should mortal woo? 
Is it with a sob of pain 
That the flower's heart you gain? 
Pattering rain-drops, tell me true, 
With a tear should mortal woo ? 



r 



Softly stealing over all, 
With a sob of love we fall, 

42 



u 



si 




And the flowers with a start, 
Open wide their eyes and heart, 
Cupid dips his arrow-heads 
In the tears that mortal sheds. 

To my Phyllis then I sped, 
Told her what the sunshine said; 
Whispered what the rain had sobbed, 
While my heart with longing throbbed,, 
Phyllis with a sunny smile, 
Bade me tarry yet a while. 

Then she stammered, blushed and wept 
As my arms about her crept. 
And I read within her eyes 
Tear-splashed laughter of surprise; 
Rain and sunshine play a part 
In the winning of a heart. 



"^ 



43 



:3 




CUPID'S CHOICE 

When love steps in then resolutions flee, 

No chooser of a mate can mortal be, 

Man thinks he chooses — Love looks on with glee, 

The maiden blushes — for she knows that she 

Is but a target for the dart of Cupid wee. 

The parson may in marriage couples bind, 

But if Love has not paired the twain, now mark and 

mind, 
The days will teem with wranglings and with words 

unkind, 
For Love alone can couple rightly — Love though 

blind. 
And coupled once by Love — two always one we 

find. 



y 



So in my resolutions of the new-born year, 

I let the choice of thee not as my own appear, 

For only Cupid is infallible down here. 

And he chose you for me and me for you, my dear, 

And this is why the future has for me no fear. 



44 



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1 



THE LANGUAGE OF THE HEART 

Love IS the language of the heart, 

And all may learn who will, 
For from all tongues it stands apart; 
A glance — a smile — well, that's a start> 

A kiss, that's further still. 



"^ 



It has no alphabet at all. 

No words to spell or speak, 
A wink — a nod — a silent call, 
The language of the street, the ball. 
Of mortals strong and weak. 

It is so universal, too, 

Is found in every land. 
And all in love's sweet language woo. 
From Christian white to dark Hindoo,. 

And all can understand. 



U 



A smile, a kiss, a fond caress, 

A hand that tender grips, 
A sigh — a tear — now you can guess. 
That love is nothing more nor less 
Than something of the lips. 



45 



m 




r* 



Let shaven priests prate their beliefs, 

With fasting and with prayer, 
Let learned lawyers scan their briefs, 

And vendors shout their wares, 
I have my creed, my brief, my ware, 

Perhaps you'll call me stupid, 
■Safe in Love's bank within the care 

Of naughty little Cupid. 




pn 



46 








3 S E 





(c 



AS THINE 

I hear the drip of liquid song 

Flow from the morn's white throat, 
The whistle of the breezes strong, 

With shrill and piercing note. 
The rustle of the long-eared grain, 

The tear-weep of the pine, 
The weary wail of falling rain. 

The silver smile of shine. 
The songburst of the awakening birds, 

Yet none so sweet as thine. 

I feel the scented breath of day 

Upon my fevered cheek. 
Perfumed with flowers born of May, 

With heather of the peak. 
With grasses of the rill-pierced mead. 

With salted ocean brine, 
With hawthorn and with tangled weed. 

With rosemary and vine; 
Ah — wondrous sweet is breath of day, 

Yet not so sweet as thine. 



47 

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u 



n 




<.• 



r* 



Peep o'er the mist-crowned hills; 
The dewdrop rainbows dancing by, 

The silver rippling rills; 
The nodding half-awakened trees, 

The flowers' eyes ashine, 
The green corn waving in the breeze,, 

The east a blood-red wine; 
[p^\i — wondrous fair is face of dawn,, 

Yet not so fair as thine ! 



-^ 



1 



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4S 




51 iBl 



% S^ 




LOVE'S SACRIFICE 

Were 't mine to die that you might live, 
My life Fd freely, gladly give, 
For your dear life is more to me 
Than mine and my eternity; 
If by my suffering you might gain 
A full release from tears and pain 
I'd suffer gladly in your stead 
For love to sacrifice is wed. 

And should your smiles depend in part 
Upon the tears I shed, fond heart, 
I'd weep my eyes away for you. 
For that is only Cupid's due; 
So should my sufferings be the way, 
That Love has chosen for to-day! 
Well, let Love come — who'll say her nay? 
Willing I'm sad, if you are gay. 



49 



31 





"BOY CUPID*' 

Over the hills and over the dales, 
Where the morning blushes — the evening pales, 
Where the thrush and black-bird sing their song, 
Where the playful lambkins bound along; 

Boy Cupid scampers through daisy-flecked grasses, 
And lets loose his arrows at all — as he passes. 

Over the hills and over the dales, 
Where the rain-storm shrieks and the wild wind 

wails. 
Where the frog croaks sad in the dismal swamp 
To the "Will-o-the-Wisp" — the marsh-god's lamp; 
Boy Cupid scampers through bog-grown grasses 
And lets loose his arrows at all— as he passes. 

Over the hills and over the dales. 
Where the dew falls thick — and the grey mist trails. 
Where the wild-born flow'r — the child of fate. 
With nodding head, beckons to Its mate; 

Boy Cupid scampers through dew-soaked grasses 
And lets loose his arrows at all — as he passes. 



50 



3 B H 



f 



Over the hills and over the dales, 
Where lightly whistle the summer gales, 
A lad and lass trip gaily along. 
With laugh and shout and a merry song; 
Boy Cupid shot — and the maiden blushed, 
And the song of the lad and lassie was hushed. 



"IJ 



-1^ 



lU 



51 



^3 151 E 




THE GARDEN OF EDEN 

When Eden was smiling with blossoms and bird, 
Before thorns and thistles were grown, 

Poor Adam felt worried, for Eve said "Absurd, 
IVe no clothes I can call my own!" 

And try as they would, they couldn't devise 
How to make a new dress or a cape, 

So they munched at the apple and straightway grew 
wise, 
And with leaves both their bodies did drape. 

Then the Lord drove them out from Eden so bright, 
And an angel he placed at the gate. 

But Cupid — sly devil — he slipped out one night, 
And hurried to Eve and her mate. 

And Adam grew merry — and Eve became gay. 
When they heard the sweet singing of Cupid, 

And vowed that the world was not slow anyway, 
Though Eden was frightfully stupid. 

You ladies — Eve's thoughts have always retained, 
Now, please don't go off in a passion, 

For if Eve inside Eden had always remained. 
Your clothes would be all out of fashion. 



52 

m 




THE QUEST 



1i 



U 



The King was bewailing the lack of a mate, 

His poor head was throbbing beneath the crown's 

weight, 
He swore at his courtiers, his jester, the state. 
For the King was irate. 

"Go bring me a woman both gentle and kind, 
"A woman who'll follow the bent of my mind, 
*'Who's neither too forward, nor too much behind," 
Said the King, "Go and find 

*'A woman of beauty, a woman that's wise, 
"Who'll laugh when one smiles and who'll weep 

when one cries, 
"Who'll see all my virtues, to faults close her eyes, 
"And whose love never dies." 

Then went forth his courtiers to east and to west, 
To north and to south, on their womanward quest, 
They searched high and low with true courtierly 

zest. 
Without sleep, without rest. 



53 



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3 



I 



Their efforts were vain for not one could they find 
Who'd follow the bent of the King's crooked mind, 
Who was neither too forward nor too much behind, 
With all virtues combined. 



The King grew to brooding, he wept and he sighed, 
And his royal heart broke and lonely he died. 
And none but his courtiers and fool for him cried 
Through his kingdom so wide. 



y 



Moral 

There are men in this world, and men less than 

kings, 
Who wait for a woman who wears angel's wings. 
But woman's a woman — faults and virtues she 

brings 
To both beggars and kings. 



54 



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!bI 



d: i^ 




AUTUMN 



lyi 



Sweet summer like a tired maiden hastes away, 

And Autumn once again reigns In her stead, 
Lengthening the nights, and slowly shortening day. 

Forerunner of the winter — season of the dead; 
The flowers droop and fade, and yellow grow the 
leaves 
Wizen and fall before the cold grown blast; 
The farmer garners home the standing sheaves. 

The trees toss round their naked arms — aghast, 
The swallows, broken-hearted, take their distant 
flight, 
Poor Nature lays aside her broken harp. 
The sun behind dark clouds hides out of sight, 

And winds, like birds of prey with talons sharp. 
Around the stiffening corpse of Nature shriek and 

fight. 
Then winter comes and hides her In a shroud of 
white. 



SS 



m B 



^ 




Jehovah of the Thunders, — 
Who flings the lightning dart, 

List to our supphcation, 

And open wide Thine Heart. 

Let bloodshed cease forever, 
Send forth Thy mighty word, 

Strike dumb the roaring cannon, 
And blunt the biting sword. 

Lord of the poor and lowly. 

And Father to us all, 
We bow before Thee humbly, 

God, hearken to our call. 

Lord, smite the hounds of warfare, 
For bloodshed then must cease; 

List to our supplications. 
And give Thy people peace. 

Controller of the whirlwinds, 
Creator, Lord and King, 

'Tis to Thee as a father 
We all our troubles bring. 



56 




Oh — as a father grant us 
Peace In our home and land, 

And quell our childish quarrels 
With Thine Almighty hand. 



^ 



57 



Ol E 



r* THE RIFLE'S REFRAIN 

I sputter and spit at the coming foe, 
I let loose my bullets, and down they go, 
With my biting breath on their ranks I blow, 
I chuckle with mirth as I lay them low, 
I chuckle with mirth as I lay them low. 
And my bullets rattle as down they go. 
Oh! my breath is death, and my message woe, 
For the Rifle's the King of War, Ho ! Ho ! 

They gaze in awe at my staring eye. 
It flashes fire — they turn to fly, 
But they meet my glance, and they fall and die, 
For the King of War and of Death am I, 
Yes ! the King of War and of Death am I. 
With my biting breath, and my blazing eye, 
The lone women weep and the children cry. 
And the warriors fall when my bullets fly. 

Oh! Tm King of all in the bloody fight, 
I deal out Death both to left and right. 
The soldier trembles, and his face turns white, 
When he hears my snarl, when he feels my bite. 



"^ 



58 



CZi c 




Oh 1 my breath Is death, and my message woer 
And my eye flashes bright as down they go, 
And I snarl and bite as I lay them low, 
For I am the King of War, Ho ! Ho I 



59 



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r* 



THE OLD SOLDIER'S DEATH 



Help me to the window, Mary, I can hear the 
tramp of feet; 

I can hear the bugle calling, I can hear the drum- 
mer's beat; 

I can see the ranks a-forming, see the Colonel rid- 
ing by; 

Help me to the window, Mary, I must see them ere 
I die. 

Hark! the bugle shrill is calling, quick — I must get 

into line, 
Get me out my regimentals, give my dirty shoes a 

shine, 
Polish up my sword and rifle, I must look both smart 

and neat. 
Strap my knapsack on my shoulders, don't you hear 

the march of feet? 



U 



I am ready, 'Vhoa boys, steady," what's the matter, 

Mary mine? 
^'Private Barry," that's my name, sir — "Shoulder 

arms and fall in line." 



60 



3^ 




"Forward march," what! Tm promoted, — that i» 

what the Colonel said, 
^Corporal Barry — King*s Own Regiment** And 

the soldier falls back dead. 



«(. 



~d 



m 



6i 



S l£ 




THE SONG OF THE FLAG 



y 



1 have waved o'er the bright sunny isles, 

I have waved o'er the far frozen north, 
Where the ocean is dimpled with smiles, 

Where the bellowing winds issue forth. 
Where the sun stares and glares o'er the plain, 

Where the iceberg keeps watch o'er the deep, 
Where the black naked savage has lain, 

Where the lean polar bears skulk and creep. 



1 have waved o'er the meadows so green, 

I have waved o'er the red carnage ground, 
Where the frisking lambs' frolics are seen. 

And where cold, cruel death stalks around. 
Where the daisies and sweet cowslips grow. 

Where the mangled and dead lie in heaps. 
Where the flow'r-scented soft breezes blow. 

Where the foul vulture gorges and sleeps. 

I have waved o'er the battleship grim, 
I have waved o'er the merchantman swift, 

Where the gulls o'er the heaving waves skim. 
Where the thick and dank mists never lift. 



LI 



62 



a o 



31' 




I have waved o'er the storm-battered wreck, 
As she sank 'neath the turbulent wave, 

I have lain on the white silent deck, 

'Round the corpse of a sea-beaten brave. 

I have waved o'er the bright festive board, 

I have waved o'er the chamber of death, 
Where clink of the glass drown'd clank of sword, 

Where an aged brave battled for breath ; 
Where loud revelry's riot resounds, 

Where the rattle of death fills the room; 
I have waved over pleasure's fair grounds, 

I have waved o'er the dark sullen tomb. 

Who calls me a rag? I'm your flag! 

Though I'm tattered, dirty and torn. 
Who calls me a rag? I'm your flag! 

The banner of liberty born, 
With liberty's fire aflame, 

My glittering stars light the gloom, 
The ''STARS AND STRIPES" is my name! 

My raising was slavery's doom. 



"5 



u 



63 



IBI E 





The eve of Waterloo, darkness and silence hover 
o'er the camp, 
No fires' ruddy glow with crackling flame and 

flying spark, 
Makes music in the soldier's ears, or paints the 
dingy dark — 
No eye is greeted by the sputtering, flickering 

lamp; 
The blinking winking stars overhead, beneath the 

sentry's steady tramp. 
The silent challenge and the weary sleeping camp — 
Yet, to the right a lamp burns bright 
In a young lieutenant's tent, and beneath the light 
he sits to write; 
Hands trembling, body bent. 

With beating heart and tear-dimmed eye, 
Above the sputtering lamp. 

While on the ground an order lies — 
*'No lights — show — in the camp." 



Then a shadow slim throws its outline dim, 
But the beardless boy writes on, 

And a face set grim bends over him, 

And the Duke reads these words of a son: 



64 

3 IbI 



m 



m 




you, iviotner aear, i write to-nij 

To show that I think of you; 
To-morrow I enter my first real fight, 

It may be my last, Mother, too. 
But should I die, remember, that I 

Have died for home and for you. 
Your tears God will dry, dear Mother, good-by, 

Here's a kiss from your boy so true.'* 






And a falling tear stained the written note, 

And blotted the name of the lad; 
Then a voice which brought his heart to his throat. 

Said sternly: "This postscript add." 
The boy turned round and before him found 

The Duke standing stern and cold. 
His heart gave a bound, but without a sound 

He saluted and did just as told. 
''Sit down and write," said the Iron Duke,, 

And In tears the trembling son 
Without a backward glance or look 

Wrote these words of Wellington: 

''At the break of day I'll be led away. 

To be shot at the Duke's command. 
For orders I dared to disobey" — 

Wrote the boyish trembling hand; 



65 



^ 





And he folded the note, a lump in his throat, 

And saluting with never a word. 
Gave up the letter which he wrote, 

And the soldier's pride — his sword — 
A last salute, so still and so mute. 

And the Duke stepped into the night, 
With face pale and drawn, the boy waits for dawn, 

And blows out the flickering light. 

And darkness and silence brood black and still, 

And the sluggish hours creep by. 
Then the sun rises blood-red over the hill. 

And they lead him out to die. 
A puff of smoke, a mother's heart broke, 

A gush and a rush of blood. 
The oozing wound and the upturned mound, 

The limp, lifeless clay where the young boy had 
stood; — 
The bugle's blast and the marching past. 

And the song of a soul as it flew 
From the stern rebuke of the Iron Duke, 

And a cruel Waterloo. 



\ 



-if 



66 





THANKSGIVING SONG OF THE 
REPUBLIC 

{By Permission) 

Lord of the golden harvest, 

And of the smiling plain; 
God of the laughing sunshine, 

And of the sobbing rain, 
We bring our humble off'rings 

Before Thy mercy seat. 
We thank Thee, God of Plenty, 

Who givest us drink and meat. 

God of our soothing slum.bers, 

And of our wakeful hours ; 
Controller of the tempests. 

And painter of the flowers, 
We thank Thee for Thy mercy, 

And for Thy tender care. 
Oh ! save us from temptation, 

And sin's enticing snare. 

God of the frowning battle, 
And of sweet, smiling peace, 

Forgive Thy erring children. 
And bid the bloodshed cease. 



67 



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Be with our struggling brothers, 
Who strive for home and right. 

Strike dumb the roaring cannon, 
And blind the rifle's sight. 

God guide our chosen ruler, 

Along his irksome way, 
And give him strength and wisdom. 

For this, O Lord, we pray. 
As to a loving father. 

Thy children come with song, 
To thank Thee for Thy mercies, 

O Lord, Thy love prolong. 



^ 



1 w 



68 




TEARS 



Tears, tears, they gently fall and quickly disappear; 
Mere tokens of some joy, some grief, some passing 

fear. 
As dewdrops melt below the sun's bright ray, 
So tears they quickly come, yet quickly pass away — 
Tears, idle tears. 

Tears, childish tears, caused by some infant freak. 
The vain attempt of babyish hearts to speak; 
Maybe some broken toy gives rise to grief; 
And to a child, tears, what relief! — 
Tears, childish tears. 

Tears, lover's tears, tears shed in secret, Cupid's 

toll- 
So bright as down a maiden's cheek they roll; 
With artful tears the maid her lover cold beguiles, 
But quickly kisses turn them into smiles — 
Tears, lover's tears. 

69 








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Pi Tears, Mother's tears, so sacred, of herself a part, 
The mirrors of her troubled soul, the droppings of 

her bruised heart; 
Like to the mighty sea, resistless and unfathomed, 

yet how small! 
'Tis with her tears a Mother rules us all — 
Tears, Mother's tears. 

Tears, hopeless tears, tears which the proud can't 

hide — 
Tears which o'erwhelm a mortal like the seething 

tide — 
Tears which grim death can never dry, eternal tears 

are these; 
And when Time's chariot's rolled away these tears 

will then not cease — 

Tears, hopeless tears. 

Tears, Jesus' tears, how human, how divine ! 

His heavenly eyes have seen, have fathomed thine; 

And now with outstretched arms He calls thee to his 

breast, 
Where tears shall never flow, but there eternal 

rest — 

The Godman smiles. 



70 



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SONG OF PEACE 

{By Permission) 

"The Pen is mightier than the Sword," 
"Right giveth Might," 
List to our cry, oh, Lord ! 

Show us the Light. 
Let War forever cease. 
Give us a life of Peace, 
Let Love and Faith increase, 
And banish night. 

"The Pen is mightier than the Sword," 

Peace soon must reign. 
All men with one accord 

Unite again. 
Lord ! harken to our cry, 
Pass not Thy children by. 
But from Thy throne on high, 

Give Peace again. 



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*'The Pen is mightier than the Sword," 

Bloodshed must cease, 
■ Give us forever, Lord, 
Love, Joy and Peace. 
In Thee we put our trust, 
Jehovah, great and just. 
The sword and spear shall rust, 
Warfare must cease. 



*'The Pen is mightier than the Sword," 

Great God above, 
Send forth Thy mighty word 

Of Truth and Love. 
We now before Thee fall. 
Oh ! harken to our call. 
True brothers are we all — 

Give Peace, oh, Lord! 



72 



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THE AWAKENING 

Oh, ear of mine, hear'st thou not the croon 
Of midnight skies to softly sleeping earth? 
The sweet-voiced moon, the singing, starry eyes 
That laugh with mirth and silver shine ? 

Oh, eye of mine, seest thou not the East, 
With ruddy blush await the kiss of sun? 
The moon's love-feast, the sweet expectant hush 
Of all and one — then, laughing, shine ! 

Oh, heart of mine, feel'st thou not the throb, 
Feel'st thou not the throb of living light? 

Pulsations of the morn — the long-drawn sob 

Of dying night — then, laugh of day new-born and 
sunny, shine! 



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THE GREAT UNSEEN 



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He laid the earth's foundations down; he caged the 

restless deep; 
He holds the whirlwinds in his grasp, and lulls the 

storm to sleep; 
The lightnings flash from out His eye, that Eye 

divinely keen, 
He reads the inmost thoughts of man, but still by 

man "Unseen." 



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The sun takes from His love its light and sheds it 

o'er the earth, 
'Twas this mysterious love at first that gave to all 

their birth. 
The countless distant stars are His, and things of 

lowly mien; 
He winds them round with threads of love, spun by 

"The Great Unseen." 



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His voice is heard in thunder's roar, and in the 

wind's low moan; 
The perfume of His living breath to flowers bright 

is blown, 



74 



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The flowers painted by His hand of rare celestial 
sheen; 

His face Is In each dewdrop bright, and yet Him- 
self, ''Unseen/' 

Within the hollow of His hand, the oceans rise and 

fall; 
He knows the billows each by name, they answer 

to His call; 
He gazes at His handiwork with look so calm, 

serene, 
That all creation's sounds are hushed — before "The 

Great Unseen." 

The overflowing font of love, eternally the same, 

Love, Love, His attribute divine, and Love, Jeho- 
vah's name. 

Upon His mighty outstretched arm, the countless 
worlds all lean. 

Are led through boundless space by Him, their 
Father, "The Unseen." 



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